


You Who Are The Beat Of Our Hearts

by hesperia



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Mists of Avalon AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-18
Updated: 2013-04-18
Packaged: 2017-12-08 20:48:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/765860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hesperia/pseuds/hesperia





	You Who Are The Beat Of Our Hearts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lit_chick08](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lit_chick08/gifts).



Sansa's hair whips around her face, and she brushes the dark strands out of her eyes as she makes her way along the path. She is not yet used to the dark color, but Mya had suggested it as a means of disguising herself. Dark mousy brown hair would not be quite so noticiable as the bright Tully red she had inherited from her mother. Leaning against a tree, Sansa takes a few deep breaths, pressing gently on her swollen stomach. "Not now, little bird," she whispers, as her child turns and kicks inside her. "Soon we will be gone from here. Soon you'll be safe." 

Pulling her cloak tight around her shoulders she continues on her way until she can see Mya standing with a small lantern, the mule's lead in her hand. 

"Got everything?" Mya asks, and Sansa pauses to look back at the imposing keep.

"Yes," Sansa says, finally. "Let us go." It is difficult at first, to climb into the basket, her belly almost full grown now, and Sansa thinks if she'd left earlier, if she hadn't been waiting on a hope and prayer, it would have been easier, less risky. 

Mya, as always, seems unaffected and Sansa knows that this is probably for the best as one of them needs to stay calm and collected as they make their way down to the Gates of the Moon. The trip is long, and there are points when Sansa feels so sick from the swaying of the mule that she contemplates jumping from the basket and down into the rocky depths. Instead she tries to focus her mind on something else, anything else....

 

* * *

Sansa feels the quickening at the beginning of the harvest. It is the tiniest of flutters but it takes her breath away, makes her gasp and press a hand low to her belly. 

"Are you ill, Sansa?" Septa Mordane asks, and Sansa nods, throwing her stitching into the basket at the woman's feet before rushing out of the room. It had been easy to ignore before now, all the signs that Sansa knew she should have paid attention to. She had been nauseous for weeks now, and so tired there were times when she could barely rouse herself out of bed. 

She does not go to her bedchamber now, but runs down the stairs of the Great Keep and into the yard where Robb and Jon practice with Ser Roderick and Theon. 

Sansa does not call out to him, but catches his eye with a pleading desperate look that makes him stop the melee and motion for Jon and Theon to begin. "What is it, Sansa?" Robb asks, sheathing his sword as he walks toward her.

"Meet me in the Godswood, alone." Sansa pushes by him, unable to meet his eyes for she's sure somehow he'll be able to tell, will see it in her face and know that night still follows them. They won't ever be able to forget it now. 

When he comes to her she is sitting at the base of the heart tree, her knees pulled up to her chin, her arms around her legs, looking into the dark still pond. She does not want to look up at him, has been finding it harder and harder to push back the emotions that keep bubbling to the surface. When he sits next to her, a hand coming to rest on her arm, Sansa can hold back no longer, and she breaks down crying. At first she tries to hide it, quickly wiping her face, but the tears keep coming, harder and faster than before and when Robb slips his arms around, pulling her into his chest, Sansa breaks. 

"Shh, sweetling, breathe," Robb whispers, his hand stroking along her back. "Tell me what's wrong, Sansa. Tell me and I'll make it better."

"You can't," Sansa says, pulling away from him, her face now red from crying. "There's nothing you can do to make this better." 

Robb's face is lined with worry and he tries to touch her face, but she pulls away and he frowns even harder. "Sansa, tell me what is going on." 

"A babe," Sansa says, the urge to vomit rising again in the back of her throat. "I'm with child. Your child." She expects him to yell, to damn the Old Gods and the smallfolk, to beat his fists into the heart tree, to leave her and pick a fight with Theon until he is bloody and bruised. 

She does not expect him to turn away from her, and at first she thinks to yell at him, but then she feels his body shaking against her, and she knows it is pride that turns him away from her. He does not want her to see him weep. She pulls him to her, does not stop when he fights her, and finally relents, lying his head in her lap as she strokes her fingers through his auburn curls. 

"I'm sorry," he whispers, after they have sat in silence for a few long moments. 

"The fault is not your alone," Sansa says. "I knew it was you, and I did nothing." 

"I'll take you away from here," Robb says, sitting up and drying his face with the sleeve of his shirt. "We'll take a horse to White Harbor, and from there a ship, to Essos. We can go wherever you want, Braavos, Volantis, even Lys. You'll have the child and we'll raise it together."

Sansa's heart breaks at the look of hope on his face, as though he is truly serious. "And what of Winterfell? You are Father's heir, he will need you now more than ever, he is not getting any younger." 

"And you carry my heir, so how can I not?" Robb asks.

"A bastard gotten on your sister cannot inherit Winterfell from you!" Sansa says, frustrated now by Robb's naivety. "You speak of madness." Sansa stands, brushing the bits of leaves and dirt from her gown. 

"I love you, Sansa," Robb says as she begins to walk away. 

"It's wrong," she says, looking back at him over her shoulder. "You're not supposed to love me, not like that." 

"But I do," Robb starts, grabbing at her hand to pull her against him, her hands coming up to rest on his chest. Their faces are only inches apart as Sansa looks into his eyes, sees a face that mirrors hers so much that one would think they had been born twins. Robb leans in toward her, their foreheads touching, and Sansa can feel the heat of his breath on her mouth. "You know me like no one else does," he says, earnestly, and their lips meet in a soft dry kiss. 

It should feel strange, to kiss Robb like this, but he is warm and strong against her, his arms coming up around her, holding her to him, and Sansa feels nothing but contentment as they kiss. It is when Robb's tongue slides along her bottom lip, testing her reaction, does Sansa feel a pulse of desire flow through her. She opens her mouth to him, allowing him to kiss her deeper. 

They kiss for what feels like ages, learning every inch of each other's mouthes, taking their time to memorize every curve, to catalogue every sensation as their tongues slide over one another. And Sansa thinks that maybe, maybe the night of the Beltaine fires had very little to do with happened between her and Robb, and that maybe it was just an inevitability. 

"If I ask her, Mother will send me to Aunt Lysa, it will be easy to hide me in the Eyrie until the child comes." Sansa says as she steps back from him, and just like that the spell between them is broken, dragging them back to the harsh reality of their situation. 

"And after that, what then? Will you ever come back to the North? To me?" Robb asks, though they both know the answer to the question before he asks it. 

The weeks that follow are not pleasant, though Lady Catelyn is in agreement with Sansa's request to be sent to the Eyrie. 

"Lysa will understand," Catelyn says, as she sits behind Sansa, brushing out her hair. She is quiet for a moment and when Sansa turns around she can see her mother's eyes, full with unshed tears. Sansa bows her head, and not for the first time since she has told her lady mother of her situation, begins to cry. 

"Sansa, my girl, tell me who it is," Catelyn pleads, slipping her arms around Sansa, rocking her gently. "I am sure that your Father and his will be able to make an arrangement." This only makes Sansa cry harder until she is sobbing, her face pressed against her mother's bosom. Yet however horrible this situation makes Sansa feel, lying to her parents, disappointing them beyond words, it pales in comparison to what the truth would do. Sansa can survive her own broken heart, she does not think she could survive theirs.

Their father speaks little to anyone, especially not of Sansa's situation and to the rest of the family and the household she is to become Aunt Lysa's companion, for a duration not spoken of. It is also during those weeks that Sansa begins to push her mother to find Robb a wife. It pains Sansa, to think of another woman gaining his affections, of kissing him, of lying with him and bearing his children, but he is not resilient like Sansa. He will not be able to get over this if he is not put to distraction. He had been right when he told Sansa she knew him better than anyone and she knows this secret will eat away at him, will hollow him out and when there is nothing left, he will crack. 

And so it is that Sansa finds Robb in her chambers on the night before he is to leave with their father on a tour of the North. He is told it is to strengthen his position as their father's heir, but Sansa knows it is there he will find a bride, and bring her home to Winterfell. And she feels grateful, for the first time, that she will be leaving Winterfell, 

"Have you packed?" Sansa asks, pulling a shawl around her shoulders as Robb sits down on the side of her bed. He nods, taking up her hand in his, his index finger tracing along the lines of her palm. It is the first time in weeks he has touched her, and it is a touch so intimate that Sansa finds it unnerving, makes her ache for more.

"I am so sorry, Sansa," Robb says again, and he leans down to kiss over her knuckles. "This is not what I wanted for you. I know it is not what you wanted either." 

Sansa shrugs, for he speaks the truth, but lately Sansa has found there is no room in her life for a future that might have been. She focuses only on the fact that in seven moons she will give birth to her child. A child she will give to her Aunt and Uncle to raise as their own. She has not told Robb of her plan to give the child to Lysa, her barren aunt who has lost as many babies as her own lady mother has birthed. Then perhaps, in time, there will be a match for Sansa, an older and lesser lord, who cares little for maiden girls and more that she will provide him with an heir. _I do not need love from a husband,_ thinks Sansa. _For I have known love, and it has played me false._

Robb climbs under her covers to sit right next to her, her head resting on his shoulder as their fingers playwith each other, winding and weaving together. They talk of his trip around the North, of the different keeps they will visit, and Sansa quizzes him on the different families who are sworn to them. 

When Sansa feels the flutter, without thinking she pulls up her shift, taking Robb's hand and placing it low over her belly. "I know you can't feel it, but I can feel something, like the babe is reminding me that they are there." 

Robb moves down the bed and pulls her shift higher, exposing her belly to him. It is not yet noticeable under her gowns, but naked there is a tiny swell, just enough that Robb can cover her with his hand, his fingers spread over the swell, over their child. He lays his head against her hip, his hand stroking over her skin, and if she closes her eyes, she can pretend they are somewhere else...

 

* * *

"We are here now, Sansa," Mya says, lifting the blanket from over Sansa's head. "Can you stand?" 

Sansa glares at her and begins to lift herself out of the basket. "I'll try." Mya laughs, and slips her arms under Sansa, helping her out and onto the ground. Sansa's first few steps are wobbly at best but soon she is in control of her balance and she takes her small bag from Mya. Tying the mule up, Mya and Sansa walk down to where the man with the cart is waiting, just as Mya said he would be. 

"You're sure he can be trusted?" Sansa asks, the man is young, around Robb's age from the look of him. 

"I said he could, and he can," Mya says, giving the man a wave. "He's my brother, well, my half brother. He'll keep you safe." 

Mya hugs Sansa awkwardly, squeezing her tightly. "Thank you," Sansa says, looking at her gratefully. "How will I ever repay you?" 

"It's not like that," Mya says, and she urges Sansa to go. "The quicker you're gone, the better." 

Sansa hurries down the hill to where the man stands with his horse and cart. "Thank you so much for this, Ser..." she pauses and looks at the man, who, know that Sansa has gotten a closer look, is quite handsome.

"Just Gendry, my lady," he says, and holds out his hand to Sansa so she can step up into the cart. "We'd best be on our way. We've only got a few hours until dawn, and I'd happier if we were already on a ship from Gulltown by the time your uncle realizes you are gone."


End file.
